


The Time Travelers Wife

by BexieTheIntrovert



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 00:58:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BexieTheIntrovert/pseuds/BexieTheIntrovert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which John Smith shows up in various points in Clara's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Time Travelers Wife

I met him first in 1996. It was completely by accident, of course. My mother always told me not to talk to strangers. I had simply dropped my school books, and he had simply helped me. The first thing that stuck out to me about him was his large chin. It was chiseled and angular, and stuck out quite a ways. Of course, being only seven years old at the time, I could not fully appreciate how nice he looked, otherwise. He was tall, and he was skinny, but not in a lanky way. He had some muscle on him. His purple tweed jacket and bow tie were both surefire signs that he was stuck in the 80's, although he protested eagerly that bow ties were most definitely "cool." His eyes glowed with a child-like innocence that let me trust him, and I let him walk me home. I learned his name was John Smith. My mother screamed at both him and me when we came to the door. I didn't see him again after that for a long time. 

In 1998, he and I sat in my basement and watched cartoons while mum and dad were at work. We did this every day for three months. I learned that he could hop through time. He couldn't quite control it, though. Whenever he got scared, or stressed, he would just disappear and appear somewhere else. In another time. I wasn't sure if I believed him or not. I was a fairly skeptical child. The only thing I was sure of, was that he made me feel incredibly safe. I didn't feel lost when he was around, like I normally did. I usually felt out of place, but he made that go away. I would feel my heart going funny when he laughed.

On the last day I saw him that year, we were in the basement like usual. Some show was on the television, but we weren't paying attention. We were playing twenty questions. Mummy wasn't supposed to be home until six, but I guess she got off early to take me out to the fairgrounds. As her heels clicked on the stairs, I looked to the man with a nervous smile, then away, and then when I looked back, he was gone. Mum and I went to the fair, but amidst all the laughter and fairy floss, all I could think of was the man in the bow tie. Where was he? When was he?

2001\. I had just turned thirteen, and I was in a soda shoppe. We were on vacation in the United States for my birthday. Mum and dad went to go window shopping, and left me there with two hundred American dollars. Bow tie walked in and sat down across from me, a crooked smile on his face. He told me I looked stunning in my new jumper, and I felt myself blushing. We went to a few shops and I bought some clothes and books. People on the street gave us odd looks, but I didn't care. I was having the time of my life. At least, I was until a police officer came up to us and asked what his relation to me was. He gripped my hand tightly and we ran for three blocks, before he disappeared into thin air. The spaces between my fingers felt empty.

It was then that I knew I fancied the man in the bow tie. 

The next time I met him, it was 2005. I was sixteen years old. My mum was dead and my father was always working at some job that he was fired from a week later. The house was always empty, save for me and sometimes my grandmother. Not often, though. I reminded her too much of mum, and it made her cry. 

The date was October twenty third. It was seven months and eighteen days after my mum was killed. No one is quite sure how she died - not even the girlfriend that was with her. All she can remember was an oddly life-like mannequin. I was in the graveyard, sitting by mum's headstone. I liked to go there sometimes to leave flowers. I brought roses this time. Red ones. I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around. My heart fluttered in my chest, and I jumped up with tears in my eyes, throwing my arms around his neck. He wrapped his arms around my waist, and held me tightly while I cried, and muttered about how much I missed my mum, and how much I had missed him. 

He planted a soft kiss on my forehead, took my gloved hand, and we began to walk. Now that I was sixteen, it was alright. We didn't get any weird looks. We walked around my town, and we just talked. He told me that I would definitely see him again. That made me ecstatic, but I didn't say anything. 

We were out on our stroll for at least four hours, before we ended up in the park. We sat on a bench by the pond, and watched the fireflies. He caught one in his hands, and showed it to me. He told me that the fireflies lights would come on every night, as a call for the one they loved. They would see them for the night, and then during the day, they would call for them. But they could never find each other, because their lights wouldn't glow. He was very flustered when I explained that I knew they used the lights to lure prey. 

He walked me home, and kissed my hand on the porch. He thanked me for an amazing day, and then walked down the drive. My hand tingled where his lips had touched, and when my father asked me why I was so giddy, I just smiled and looked at my hand. I saw him every Wednesday for the next seven months. Then he disappeared again.

In 2006, he showed up on my eighteenth birthday. My dad was out for the day, because he was applying for a hopefully long-term job. We sat on my bed. Him with his back against the headboard, and I with my head in his lap. He stroked my hair absentmindedly, and we talked about everything and nothing. 

Somehow, "I think I love you," was slipped into the conversation. He fell silent, and stared at me for a moment. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears. The blood rushed to my face and I stuffed my head into a pillow. Then he began to laugh. I looked up from the pillow with stress-tears clouding my eyes. 

He took the pillow from my hands, and threw it across the room. Then, he pulled me up, and looked me right in the eyes.

That was where it all began. His lips met mine and his arms flew around my waist. I tangled my hands in his hair, and moved so that I was straddling his waist. He pulled me flush to him, planting messy kissed down my neck and collar bones, and then back up to my lips. He murmured my name quietly, like a song. I began to unbutton his shirt.

Soon, we were both unclothed on my bed. We were a tangle of limbs and sloppy, uncoordinated kisses. I felt warm and complete. I felt myself release and I let out a moan. Shaky breaths and more kissing followed. 

My dad found us asleep, under the covers. He called me downstairs the next morning, and I told John to wait upstairs for me. Dad didn't question me, he just made sure I made the right decisions. I was a bumbling mess as I whispered a quiet, "Yeah," and sprinted back up the stairs. I expected to find John waiting, but he was gone. 

My heart was broken. Had he only come back to take my innocence, and then leave? That was what I thought. The fact that I didn't see him again for three years made me even more sure.

In 2009 I was working as a waitress at a small pub. I finally had my own place, being twenty-one and all. I got off of work at midnight, and when I got home to my small apartment, John was there. He was standing in my living room, studying the books I had on my shelf.

I wasn't sure whether to be happy, or sad. So I went with angry. I unleashed all the feelings I hadn't dealt with over the past three years. I yelled at him about how he fucked me and left. I asked him how in the hell he could think of doing that. I hit him with a throw pillow and he just stood there the whole time. He didn't tell me to calm down or to shut up. He just let me get angry. And when I broke down in gross sobs on the carpeted floor, he sat down next to me and wrapped his arm around me. He whispered an apology, and a thousand sweet nothings in my ear while I cried. I thought I had lost him forever, and then he just turned up again. It was like coming back from the dead. 

We curled up together on the sofa, and I asked him where he'd been. It turns out he had gone to Egypt, and he wasn't able to get back. But it was a different amount of time for him. He was only gone three hours, for me, it was three years. 

I told him about my job. He told me about Egypt. I fell asleep to him reading me a book in a language I didn't understand. 

The next morning, we decided to get married in a small chapel on a whim. That gave him a reason to return to me. He left an hour after.

Now, it's 2013. I'm twenty five years old, and I haven't heard a peep from John Smith. I don't know what my future holds for him and I, but I know it will be complicated.

That's how it is when you're a time travelers wife.


End file.
